Pick your poison

[Marguerite De Silva]

Brayden looked like he was hoping that a hole might open up underneath his feet. He was watching the floor very carefully for signs of cracks as the conversation went on. For Marge (and Jack) it was normal to discuss things like sexual encounters. No different than talking about the weather, really, or which bitch said what about them and how Marge was going to execute the perfect murder as revenge. You know--benign, every-day conversational topics.

She could tell that Brayden took matters of intimacy--sex--quite seriously. He took most things seriously, come to think of it. Marge smiled pityingly as Jack offered up some flimsy response about a blow job, and as Brayden's face went beet red. It took a while; she sat there watching him changing color. Cute. Really, he was so shy and so... easy to bully.

"You sweet, innocent babies," she purred, as she finished off the wine and set the bottle down gently. By the looks of the game table, more than 'just a blow job' happened. Well, she'd get the answers from Jack sooner or later.

"I'm. Going to take a shower." Brayden had suddenly stood up, avoiding both of their gazes.

"All right baby. Do you want Jack to go with you? Make sure the water's... fine?"

"N-no. No I. I'm good. Thank you." After flashing them a stiff smile, Brayden hurried away and after he had disappeared into the bedroom, on the way to the bathroom, Marge let out a laugh.

"All right, enough games. What the hell is happening over here Jack?"

[Jack Ripley]

Damn it. He went about it the wrong way. In trying to shush Marge up and sling a little information Brayden's direction, he seemed to have... hurt Brayden instead. Jack noticed the way he wouldn't even look at either of them and that weirdly tangible emotional feeling came back, just as strong as ever. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before in his life, like his heart lines were connected to Brayden's. Like he could feel not just his embarrassment but a sort of... betrayal at Jack's apparent flippancy about it.

"B..." He tried to set things right but Brayden was out. He was gone, scurrying off like he probably wished he never had Jack over in the first place. Jack swallowed hard and leaned forward, idly collecting pieces of the game that were close by. Mostly it was just a way to get some energy out before he did something... crazy. Not killing crazy. Just.. off the charts emotional. That kind of thing. The kind of thing he preferred not to.

Jack reached for the wine bottle this time and he was quite disappointed to find it was now empty. With a sigh, he set it back down.

"Nothing. Just the same junior high shit you were laughing about before." What? Didn't all junior high boys suck off other boys in the bathroom in exchange for alcohol and drugs? No? Well.

"He wanted me to fuck him," he said, hoping to hell that Brayden wasn't listening in on them. "And then he told me he hadn't had sex in three years so I... couldn't go through with it." Again with the nonchalant shrug. "So I sucked him off instead." His gaze fell away dreamily. "He was so happy that he..."

Oh. He almost gave it all away. Jack didn't finish the sentence, only wished he'd brought something to smoke to tamp down his newly jangled nerves. He lowered his voice further, knowing how small the apartments were and not knowing just where Brayden was at the moment.

"I'm so in love it's sickening. You're right. And I can't do anything about it. He really wants it. Us. But all I can think about is how he's just going to end up hurt." His tone was weary as he added, "I'm so tired of hurting people, Marge."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Three years?!" Marge whisper-screamed with a hand at her mouth. This time no histrionics--she was truly shocked. She was so shocked that she didn't even have words to describe how shocked she was, so she sat there staring at Jack as though permanently frozen in place. Who... three years... what? How was Brayden not dead? And Jack thought his week-long journey through abstinence was bad!

"Oh honey! That's the most disturbing shit I've heard all day!" She put a hand to her heart as though wounded. Not fucking Brayden was probably a good idea then, if they were drunkenly getting it on. Three years was no joke--didn't they say that people were practically virgins again after a year of not having sex? That made Brayden a... a triple virgin! He definitely needed more time and preparation than a drunken partner could give him.

More disturbingly, Jack. His light. Ugh, it was blinding again. It dimmed earlier as Brayden went away but now it was back with that sappy look on his face and with that love-struck look in his eyes. Marge didn't even ask. She could imagine how happy a man who'd been sexless for three years could be, even from getting a blow job. Sighing, she pulled Jack closer and wrapped comforting arms around his shoulders.

"You're so fucked, Jack," she said pityingly even as she was stroking her fingers through his hair. "I think..." She glanced in the direction of the sound of water running. Hm. Brayden. A complicated little thing--or he attracted complicated people. But Brayden's own desires seemed so simple and almost childish. He wanted love. Easy, right?

"I actually think refusing him would kill him." Marge shrugged. "More than you hurting him through other means. You know? Doesn't he just... seem like that type? He could take being cheated on or whatever, but... not being rejected. And you want him too. What if you don't hurt him? What if it all works out this time? You'll be kicking yourself if you miss this opportunity baby. Braydens don't come along every day, do they?"

[Jack Ripley]

RIGHT?! Jack's expression screamed right back. As a sexually charged man, Jack couldn't imagine going three months without sex. Three years was damn near torture. But he also understood, somehow, that some people weren't as sexually motivated as he and Marge were. Some people thought less about sex and more about the intimacy of it. Jack used to think those people were prudes as a teenager, having been through what he'd been through.

Sex sort of lost whatever magical hold it might have had on him otherwise. Experiencing sex the way he did for the first time, it was hardly a surprise that he didn't equate sex with love. The two were definitely two different things to him, very firmly planted in separate categories. Sex was a diversion, a good time, a way to have somebody's attention on him for as long as he wanted it. And then... throw it away to the winds for the next pretty thing to come along.

"Believe me, I know that." He was fucked and not in the good way. It was more like he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place, without much wiggle room. Was he supposed to pretend he didn't have deepening feelings and just trot off to the club for a quick fuck while he figured things out? And patience was a definite necessity when it came to Brayden, especially given how vehement Jack was about not hurting this one.

"...what?" Jack blinked and nearly choked on his own damn spit, he was that surprised by Marge's words. Refusing Brayden would kill him? But Marge was never wrong and she hadn't even been there to see what happened when Jack nearly walked out on him. His gut twisted unpleasantly and he slid his hands over it, as if it soothe the roiling anxiety swirling inside.

Did she know? Somehow? Did she know that Jack was about to leave before whatever that thing that happened--happened? Was it just an overreaction to seeing Brayden like that? Rubbing his temple, Jack wished fervently that the damned painkillers would kick in already.

"I don't think he remembers last night."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"What? Are you having a stroke?" Marge rubbed his back as Jack started and began to choke on nothing. Not that it was helpful, probably, but she hadn't done anything to him (and no jury in the land would convict her even if she did). Ah, stomach ache...? Jack was rubbing his stomach, anyway, so Marge patted him on the cheek in a rather affectionate way (for her).

She only smiled at his defense. The last line of defense, it sounded like. Marge made the answer sound probably easier than it actually was. "Then you'll just have to make sure he remembers tonight, won't you?"

Seriously, what was the hold up? Not wanting to hurt Brayden would hurt him even more. Marge knew that such a delicate soul--such a fragile heart, with its light flickering--couldn't handle much more of Jack's yoyo act. The light was strongest when they were together; it was weak, dying, when they were apart. Marge had seen the way Brayden looked at Jack. The way Jack looked at Brayden.

They were truly enough to turn her stomach. In a good way.

"Woman up, sweetheart," she said as she slapped him on the back. "Either you fuck that man and start calling him your boyfriend, or you let me stab him right now, as an act of mercy." The choice, she thought, was very simple.

[Jack Ripley]

"I'll have you know, that wine was never my idea."

Jack had vague plans for the evening that didn't involve alcohol. Although once it was sitting there in front of him, he couldn't fight the urge to drink it, no better than Brayden did. What he wanted was to spend time alone with Brayden and the game nights gave him that opportunity. And maybe... if something happened between them during the game night, he would roll with it. He thought.

But if it weren't for the wine, would he really? Marge was right. He was playing a cruel game with Brayden, inadvertently, but he was. Flirting with him and then backing out the second he brought up the idea of a relationship. It was... cruel. There wasn't any other word for it. He wanted it. Brayden wanted it. And Jack kept telling himself it was to keep Brayden safe and unharmed but really, he was the one doing the most damage. If he wanted evidence, all he had to do was burn that awful image of Brayden right before Jack nearly walked out on him.

"You're not stabbing him." Although part of him believed it was half true, that Marge would make good on the threats she delivered.

His mind went to that strange dream-like vision again and he shivered. Not unpleasantly but it scared him more than death itself. Pets and babies. Some kind of domestic life. It was so farfetched that he almost wanted to laugh at the idea of it. What was that, anyway? Not actually some kind of vision, certainly. Probably just... his subconscious hammering at him.

Who knew his subconscious wanted kids? He sure as fuck didn't see that coming.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"It wasn't my idea either. It was God's." In the face of a higher calling, who was Marge to refuse? And she didn't know Brayden hadn't had sex in three years, or that Jack cared about him to such a degree that he would hold off having sex with the person he loved. Look at him, so noble. So adorable. So disgustingly in love. It turned her stomach and twisted her black little heart.

She leaned over to pick up a card and studied it idly as the sounds of water splashing dimmed. "Then you stab him with your dick." Her smile was purely teasing, a flash of irreverent humor. Marge turned her head towards the bedroom, watching for Brayden. "I think I'll go back and check on our crazy little baby boy. You can handle things here, can't you?"

She heard some kind of commotion, like someone clumsy stumbling into something. Ah, little Bee. He was so lucky to have someone love him the way Jack loved him. And Jack was damned lucky he had such a good, pure man. It was a burden, too, though, Marge didn't downplay that. Having that kind of pressure, being loved so thoroughly... It sounded scary, if she had to be honest.

Scary but exhilarating.

She stood finally and flicked the card back onto the table. Kissed Jack on the lips. Patted his dark little head. "Love you baby. Bye~"

[Jack Ripley]

Nooo, she did not just bring god into this. Jack rolled his eyes expressively and threw a facetious smile at Marge for her efforts. God had nothing to do with that wine. And if it weren't for the wine, things might not be this strained right now! (Or they could have been worse but who was he to say?)

"Ha-ha," he said at the mention of stabbing Brayden with his dick. Not that it hadn't crossed his mind. It had crossed his mind plenty of times. That was the thing about attraction and lusting after somebody. And it was even worse when the feelings got all complicated--because if the feelings weren't tangled up, he could just go ahead and do it. They would fuck like rabbits and get all this weird tension right out of the way.

Jack wasn't accustomed to letting tension like this last so long. If it was in the air, they took steps to take care of it. This was getting... it was getting ridiculous. Why did Marge have to be so right about everything? Maybe she really was a wicked witch. And Jack now had odd feelings in regards to fairies and their dicks. Ahem.

"Bye," Jack said as he reached for Marge and held onto her hand for as long as he could before she moved away from him and the couch. He almost wanted her to stay for moral support but that was like a kindergartener clinging to his mom's legs. Jack wasn't that undignified.

Once she was gone, everything felt too quiet. Jack felt a prickly sort of sensation all throughout his body--awkwardness? Restlessness? He wanted to run out the door and never come back. Should he even have stayed? Brayden probably took that shower in the hopes they would leave by the time he got out. Jack busied himself picking up the card game for real this time, putting it all away into its box. He set the box on the coffee table. Then he reached for the water and drank greedily.

He was actually starting to feel hungry now. Glancing toward the kitchen, he stayed where he was, on the couch. Waiting like a fool.

[Brayden Smith]

Bray stayed in the shower for as long as he could, hoping that by the time he got out, at least Marge would have left. Knowing her though, she'd stay and poke fun at him—at them. Yes, it did hurt his feelings to have a moment that was supposed to mean so much to him be made a joke of. And while he knew that Jack and Marge didn't do so maliciously, their casual comments really hit home. But also, knowing the kinds of people they were, Bray couldn't be—wasn't—mad. He just wanted to get away for a little while to settle his nerves.

And Bray still didn't remember anything; it still bothered him a lot. Jack remembered, though, didn't he? But when he let slip those intimate details to Marge, it was the first time Bray heard them too. He was unprepared. He was embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed. Everything was so uncertain now and so up in the air...

Also he felt like a boiled lobster by the time he got out, and picked out fresh clothes from his closet to put on. (And new underwear.) Bray stood in the middle of his bedroom feeling strangely lost. Lost and at a loss as to how he could face Jack. What... what happened to them now? Their friendship? There was that moment they had but it didn't resolve anything and soon after, Jack fell ill.

Jack fell ill.

Bray rushed out, no longer so worried about his own feelings. Those could wait; he had to check on Jack. When he got out into the living area, Jack was sitting on the couch. Bray hurried over to him and the first thing he did was feel his forehead and peer down at him with worried eyes. "Are you okay? Marge left. Does that mean you're feeling better? Do you still need anything?"

[Jack Ripley]

Whoa, slow down there. Jack raised his brows and his head when Brayden finally made his reappearance--by rushing out and promptly making sure Jack was fine. Which he was. He told everybody already that he was. He was fine. Nothing really bad happened, it was just some one off weirdness from probably not taking his meds (didn't seem likely) or the prospect of what happens when a man swallows fairy cum (which also didn't seem likely).

Jack did sort of Look at Brayden, as if he could somehow see it--whatever it was that had Marge convinced he was a fairy. Honestly, he still thought it was either crazy talk or Marge was on something when she suggested it. But then, she talked at length about various topics on the matter and she seemed fully coherent the whole time.

No, no... He didn't see it. All Jack saw was the worried face of a good friend. One who wanted to be more than that. One that might be vulnerable to being kicked when he was down. Who was reaching out for something and Jack... Jack kept sliding his hand back and watching him drown. It really was cruel, this game he was playing with him, unintentional though it may be.

His gaze remained steady on Brayden, but almost in a daze. Almost like a baby staring at a brand new person. What? What was he saying? There was a whole flutter of words coming at him and a hand on his forehead. Was he sick, though? Or was it just... what they did last night? What he did last night? (Was he really letting Marge get to him--it had to be some elaborate hoax being played on him.)

"No, no," he said. "Just..." He pulled Brayden down beside him on the couch. "Can I ask you a crazy question?"

[Brayden Smith]

Jack looked slightly out of it and Bray kept trying to bring him back to no avail. For a moment he seriously considered calling an ambulance but then Jack seemed to snap out of his thoughts. Oh. He was just thinking. Bray really ought to stop freaking out, except he couldn't. Sickness and death were prevalent themes in the later parts of his life; it hit him hard and it hit him right in the gut, any time someone close to him so much as mentioned having the sniffles.

At this point, really, all he wanted was to limit the damage. Keep people in his life, keep them safe, healthy, happy. It wasn't always Bray's prerogative or duty to do that but he tried anyway—he cared too much not to. He was the friend with the homemade chicken soup always at the ready. The friend who went out on midnight vitamin runs, the one who lined up at the pharmacy on cold days to get prescriptions filled because he happened to be in the area. As long as no one else faded out of his life...

Slowly he sat, still anxiously looking at Jack, looking him over. "Yeah. Yeah of course, anything, Jack." A crazy question? Color him confused. What kind of crazy questions could very sane Jack ask?

[Jack Ripley]

Honestly. Seriously. He just didn't see it! Weren't fairies supposed to be all glittery and glitzy with flowery hair colors and weird little gemstone eyes? Wings? Fairy dust? Brayden looked like your average, normal, everyday guy. Albeit one with a cute smile and way-too-sincere giant brown eyes. Shouldn't a fairy--at the very least--have some kind of unnaturally crazy eye color, like an icy blue, maybe, or purple?

"Are you..." Jack trailed off, feeling beyond stupid even thinking of asking it. Especially with Brayden staring at him like that, so expectantly. Jack was going to feel like a real fucking toe if he asked this question and Brayden thought he was joking with him. Maybe he should have asked in a lighter tone, with a little laugh.

He tried. He tried to lighten the mood with a little laugh but it sounded so forced that he winced inwardly and he felt like every part of his soul had just been sucked in through his belly button.

"Are you a fairy?" he asked, and then quickly threw Marge straight under the bus by adding, "Because Marge thinks you are and she won't leave it alone."

[Brayden Smith]

Yes?

Yes?!

Bray held his breath, waiting, staring. Did Jack... change his mind about them? About forging a relationship with them that went beyond friendship? Was that... crazy, necessarily? Bray thought they worked. There was obvious chemistry between them, and an intimate connection. Didn't they keep ending up together? Weekends playing dumb card games, evenings with takeout containers balanced on their knees, analyzing TV shows and pointing out goofy obvious flaws in the plots or characters, nights where parting at Bray's door seemed so reluctant that a few times Bray almost followed Jack back to his own apartment. DIdn't they owe it to themselves to see what a real relationship could be?

"Oh."

He didn't know that that was what he expected Jack to ask. Marge... knew? He stared at Jack for a long, long moment. That little half-dazed laugh... the way he hurriedly pointed out Marge knew—and Marge herself was a... ah... Actually Bray didn't know what Marge was. In their circles it was generally polite not to ask—and Bray was oh-so-polite! He thought perhaps a witch...

But she knew what he was, apparently. Bray lowered his head and looked down at his hands, which were laying in his lap. He had no reason to tell Jack anything either way. No real incentive. But if Jack was asking, he had to already suspect something, Bray thought. It never came up. Bray didn't think that being a fae—or fairy—had anything to do with their friendship so he said nothing. The only time he used his powers on Jack was to help him through a nightmare, and then afterwards, never again.

But he could use them to help Jack more. That was what made him eventually nod silently. The thought that if he came clean now, he could offer Jack respite from those haunting nightmares. "Yes," said Bray quietly, lifting his eyes to Jack's at last. He looked him in the eye and nodded again. "I am."

[Jack Ripley]

"Hm."

That. Was not the answer he was expecting. Mostly, Jack expected to hear laughter or maybe even an angry retort. Something to show that it was a joke. But for some reason, just like Marge, Brayden somehow managed to pull it off with serious aplomb. Yes, he was. Simple. Matter of fact. Jack looked him right back in the eye, and he waited for some sign or signal that something was up. That the two were in on a prank together. That Brayden was holding back a laugh.

But no, he appeared dead serious. Jack blinked, then creased his brows slightly as he turned his head away. He looked out into the middle distance, as if he could ruminate on what it all meant. Philosophize on it. No... No, he could not.

Then he felt like he had been hit in the gut with sick realization. Automatically, he reached out, his hand grasping gently onto Brayden's arm.

"No, no. I'm not calling you out. Obviously. I'm as queer as it gets, you know?" He passed a hand down over himself, as if it wasn't visually obvious--although even that, he thought, was unfair. "I was actually talking about fairies. Actual fairies. Like... as in magic."

[Brayden Smith]

Jack was taking this quite well, all things considered. Bray only had to 'come out' to human friends twice in his lifetime and those two times couldn't have been more different. One went into completely hysterics and fled the scene; Bray never saw her again. He assumed she moved away and it really saddened him that he couldn't explain to her that he wasn't... a monster. The other one took it in stride, laughed, patted him on the back and then sort of fainted dead away. Luckily they remained friends until he, too, moved away but only to nearby Portland for a better job.

This time, no fleeing. No fainting. Well Jack hadn't seen his other form yet. Bray watched him trying to process it, wondering if he had encountered others before. Witches or shifters perhaps. Vampires, even, though Bray didn't see the tell-tale marks on his throat. "Jack?" He asked softly, tentatively, confused as Jack grasped his arm.

"Oh. Ye-yeah. No, I mean. I know you didn't mean that kind of fairy." The gay kind. Fairy was a derogative term for them but Bray knew Jack would never use those kinds of words or that kind of language against him. He smiled and patted Jack's hand gently. "You mean fairies with wings, right? Like. Tinkerbell." That was the first name to come to mind, he didn't know why. Bray patted his hand again. "I can show you if you want."